


Change of Plans

by 7veilsphaedra



Category: Saiyuki, Saiyuki (Anime & Manga), Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7veilsphaedra/pseuds/7veilsphaedra
Summary: Even without Goku, Kanzeon can throw a monkey wrench into Heaven's best security detail.
Relationships: Kanzeon Bosatsu/Homura Toushin Taishi
Kudos: 3





	Change of Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Written for summerbutterfly during the 2014 Valentine Smut giftfic exchange on Dreamwidth. Prompts: creation; ocean; moon.

Change of Plans 

Ever since the dragon-king had insisted that Homura replace the catatonic Nataku as the war leader in heaven, he kept trying to read Goujun’s face and body language. The creature was a complete cypher. No feelings, apart from the occasional flicker of annoyance, crossed his face. No thoughts could be read in movement of eyes or limbs. It was like trying to read moon rocks without a geology degree.

Morning had been spent going over every detail of the plan, again and again. Money was recounted, security codes recited, guns cleaned, the suite’s television channel was set to a helicopter traffic report and city maintenance schedules had been scrutinized on the computer to ensure nothing blocked routes into or from the airport. The double-checking and triple-checking paid off when it was discovered that Shien’s hair reacted to the lack of humidity in the atmosphere with a static charge much like a cat bristling at the sight of a foe. The world of material creation was a tricky place for their lot.

“Braid it!” Homura tossed him a packet of elastics which he picked up at the tuck shop. “If those float into a laser triggered alarm, you could bring the entire special forces down on us.”

At precisely noon, the valet brought up the black sedan, and Zenon drove them, the sun’s dazzle blocked with mirrored sunglasses. Uncharacteristically, he was the only one who wore them that day and, even more uncharacteristically, the only one who wore a suit at all — entirely black, cut in the Italian style. The others were dressed in upscale casual attire, which was supposed to blend in with holiday travellers and not attract much attention from airport security if that was even possible. As a group, they looked like a group of professional golfers in the company of a Mafiosi don. Fortunately, the airport was an ocean of international travellers, many of them very weirdly dressed, and nobody paid them special attention.

The afternoon had been spent at arrivals terminal waiting, waiting, waiting. 

After the contact failed to connect, Goujun finally let out a long sigh, which may have been his first exhale of the entire day, and walked toward the exit, their sign to abandon post. The four operatives returned to the hotel, took over a section of the V.I.P. lounge the glitterati avoided, a quiet space tucked in behind some palms and papyrus where most of the sounds were masked by chattering fountains, bypassed by wandering platters of shrimp. Zenon handled that by twirling an entire tray of them off some white-gloved fingers, “I’ll take that.”

The penguin-suit blinked, and as he realized who had stolen his burden, “Of course, sir.”

“We’re sitting over there,” Zenon indicated the general region with his chin. “Keep sending over jugs.”

The waiter nodded, “Of—?”

Zenon gawped at him. “Martinis, sangria, mai tais — what did you think I meant?”

The platter of shrimp was unceremoniously thunked onto their table. Shortly after, a scantily clad waitress with too much bosom spilling out — Homura suppressed a smirk — leaned over so they could get the unobstructed view while she readied to pour.

Shien slid his palm over the top of the glass and stared at her without saying a word. She froze.

“No bottle service,” Zenon clarified. So much for jugs.

The waitress immediately nodded and left. 

A bright full moon rose over the skyscrapers. The entire ribbon of downtown stretched around their feet like a glittering necklace.

Cellphone glued to his ear, Goujun didn’t even glance at the food, liquor, scenery or any of them. 

Homura sank back in his chair, unconcerned. He suspected the dragon-king was listening to his field marshal, working out what went wrong. As usual, the commander’s voice was too quiet to discern over the ambient sounds. Speaking of which …

“No, I am not going to pick you up at the airport.” Zenon was chewing on his cellphone. “Didn’t I just tell you we’re still working here? What made you think it would be a good idea to ask me?” 

Homura cocked an eyebrow at Shien, who coolly answered, “Enrai.”

That was all he needed to know. 

“Why? How much does a taxi ride here cost? … How much? … Sixty bucks?” Zenon started picking at his teeth with a shrimp skewer. “So what you’re saying is, instead of you paying sixty bucks to take a cab here, you want me to drive all the way out to the airport on my own time and at my own expense, and then drive you all the way back here, and then, what? I suppose you want us to put you up in our suite … Fuck, no! Suck my dick! It ain’t gonna happen … ”

“That’s enough.” Homura finally stepped in, surreptitiously pointing a toe toward the dragon king. “Tell him to respect the chain of command.”

“Yeah?” Zenon looked puzzled. “So, he’s a general and I’m a general, so I’ll be a general telling another general to respect the chain of command and … I don’t get it.”

As a heretic, Homura was the lowest man on the totem pole. He adjusted his belt a notch tighter before saying, “Our commander is a king. Stop being a pussy and tell him.” 

While Zenon relayed the message, Goujun finally looked up from his phone and hissed, “Who’s he talking to?”

“Enrai.” Homura muttered under his breath.

Goujun nodded. They stared at each other. 

“Li’s boy.” Goujun’s voice was so dry and flat, a person could stretch drum skins over it.

Even Zenon picked up the inference, as he pressed the disconnect sign on his touch screen.

“A little too much coincidence.” Homura agreed.

“Did you get that?” Goujun asked Tenpou over his phone. There was a nod and he, too, disconnected the call and finally joined them.

“So what do we do now?” Shien asked. 

“Eat. Drink. Sleep.” Goujun picked up his glass and with a graceful swirl, downed it. “But not here.”

“What?” Zenon couldn’t keep up. 

“Shien, you and Zenon leave through the kitchens.” Homura quickly worked out a backup plan. “Get to another hotel and get the doorman from there to hail you a cab to the airport. Stick together. Watch each other’s backs. We will reconvene in …?”

“My office, tomorrow evening.” Goujun nodded.

“The car?” Zenon started getting up to follow Shien. 

“We’ll take care of it.” Homura filled up his own glass.

Goujun and Homura arrived at the terminal just as a white jet glided to a halt on the tarmac, gleaming under the moon. They exchanged a knowing glance as a mobile staircase was wheeled up and the hatch opened. 

Homura picked up his phone, punched in the coded text “bhl” for ‘bird has landed.’

Four bodyguards in black suits emerged first, followed by the Emir. Behind him walked his entourage in order of importance: the diplomatic staff, followed by the children and their minders and, finally … Homura had thought it would be tough-as-fuck to spot their client amongst the covered women, but Kanzeon was easily a head taller than any of the other women. Also, she was the only one with flashier fingernails than the neon signs in the entertainment district. 

The women were rounded up by another detail of security guards, and from the bulginess of their bodies, Homura figured they were all packing. 

“We can certainly overpower them between the two of us.” Goujun was thinking the same thing. “But it will leave a bloody mess and might start a war. The Merciful Goddess would kill us, undoing all her work like that.”

Homura nudged Goujun’s arm and indicated another security detail with a tilt of his eyes. “It’s like Shien predicted: they’re being waved through. Diplomatic immunity.”

Homura’s phone chirped. He relayed the message to Goujun, “Zenon and Shien have shifted from Departures to Meeting Place A. Shall we try for a bait-and-switch?

Goujun’s gloved talons rippled as he tapped them against his trouser leg. If it was the afternoon, as originally planned, then it would be better to try this in traffic. As it was, they would be better off—

“No, cull her from the herd. Let’s get to our stations.” Goujun spun on his heel and made for the staircase by the security check-in.

Homura punched the next code into his phone and counted to twenty slowly before heading in the opposite direction. Shien and Zenon acknowledged his text with twin chirps on the cell.

As the Emir’s party made its way through the special bullet-proof glass arrivals tunnels toward the limos, and Shien, Zenon and Goujun converged at the entrance, Homura noticed something strange. The group of women was missing its tallest member.

He immediately sent the text message, “Our bird has flown.”

And King Goujun immediately responded, “Abort.”

Homura watched his team-mates melt away. Irritation flashed through him for all the careful plans that came to nothing. Behind him, some tourist was noisily crunching on what sounded and smelled like toasted almonds. It grated him like fingernails on blackboards.

“Whose bird?” The tourist remarked over his shoulder.

“Do you mind? This is private.” Homura whipped around and froze with surprise.

Kanzeon Bosatsu was standing right there. Somewhere along the way, she had shed her Middle Eastern apparel — with an eye-popping vengeance in a miniskirt with dizzying layers of shimmy-fringe and a gauzy, sequined blouse that hid none of her ample charms. 

Homura swallowed hard. 

“I asked, “Whose bird?”” The Merciful Goddess reached over and tapped him on the forehead as though knocking on a door. “Just who are you calling a bird?”

“It’s code. Are you nuts?” He finally recovered, and started bundling her to someplace less exposed, although wherever Kanzeon was seemed almost fully exposed. “Do you know what will happen when your entourage discovers you’re missing?”

“You are one of Goujun’s operatives, after all!” Kanzeon looked disappointed and bored. “Pity! Here I thought I’d rounded up a nice toy boy to play with and have all kinds of kinky fun.”

Homura suppressed a choke of disbelief, and drew himself to his full height, pushing out his chest. The arrangement of windows, exposed ducts and fountains through the arrivals waiting area had created a small breeze which he allowed to ripple through his shiny hair. He gave his head a slight shake to flash the light off its sleek blue-black ripples and let the perfume of the hotel’s expensive conditioner waft around him like an aura. 

The private jet which Kanzeon had flown in on must’ve had particularly stale air from the way she kept clearing her throat, suspiciously, like she was trying not to laugh. Or something.

“You may rest assured that your safety is my first priority.” And, as he followed her into the ladies’ room, “Allow me to rescue you.”

Then as he noticed the banks of mirrors, “At least we will be out of the way here.”

Kanzeon walked straight to them, “Only until another woman actually needs to use the john with you hanging around. I would fairly count on us being discovered quite soon.”

Homura blinked, knowing she was right and not knowing quite what to do about it. 

“What time is your rendezvous with Goujun?” Kanzeon pulled out a compact mirror and started powdering her décolletage. 

Homura’s eyes froze on her cleavage, and his brain got stuck there. He had never seen a breast prior to his release from incarceration, and after his release, he’d seen precious few — especially large pillowy, bobbling ones like this, which looked like they had a life of their own, one which involved calling, calling, calling him to rest his weary head upon them, bury his nose in their crease, and latch his mouth on their … He really, really wanted to sink his face between them. 

While he ermed and ummed, she rolled her eyes. “Tonight? Tomorrow?”

“Huh? What?” Homura finally broke free from his trance.

“Goujun, remember him? When do we meet up?”

Right, business. 

“Tomorrow morning in his office. Please allow heaven’s most magnificent warrior to escort you to his presence.”

“Who? Oh, never mind. A little more time would’ve been appreciated.” Kanzeon pouted leaning against the vanity and giving Homura an eyeful of her splendid haunches. She had a very perky ass, round and firm and with just enough fat to make it cushiony. He wanted to rub his dick against it. He wanted to hold each round cheek in his hands and knead and squish, knead and squish — not that he understood any of these feelings. Goddesses weren’t incarcerated in Tenkai’s dungeons.

Kanzeon snapped the compact closed, grabbed Homura’s wrist and, tugging him after her, said, “Come on. Let’s get a cab.”

“Wait! We can’t do that.” This wasn’t on Homura’s list of safe transport. This he understood very clearly.

She stopped and stared, as though unable to believe her ears. “Are you ordering me not to? You?”

“It’s unsafe,” Homura explained, drawing up into his height again. “If you’re spotted, it will cause major problems … war, maybe. I mean, not that I care about what the humans do, but my orders are to keep you safe, and as Heaven’s best fighter, I shall keep you from peril.”

Her expression softened. “My dear Taisou, I am The Goddess, the Divine Feminine in manifestation. I have more power in my little pinkie than you and the entire Celestial Army combined. Nobody can harm me without my permission.”

But Homura’s eyes were too boggled by little triangle shape at the juncture of her thighs, which could be clearly seen through the tight miniskirt in spite of its fringe. 

Kanzeon spread her legs to give him a better view. “But I agree that it’s better if we don’t cause incidents.”

Homura was completely lost. His pulse was racing. A sheen of perspiration coated his forehead, palms and other places. His mouth was so full of moisture, he had to keep swallowing. He had never come across a goddess like this, and couldn’t function at all. He wanted to run his tongue up her legs and into that sweet spot between them. He wanted to rub his hands all over her body, feeling that soft skin beneath him. He wanted her to wrap her legs around him. Fuck, he was hard!

“Oh, come on,” Kanzeon batted her eyes and trailed her fingernails up his arm. “We’ve got all night and at least some of tomorrow morning. Let’s get a hotel room, shall we?”

“And do what?” Homura followed, clueless to the end.


End file.
